The Irregulars : The Five Paintings
by Kerowyn
Summary: Alexander Holmes and Solei Watson on on the trail of a strange criminal, in a plot that is suspeciously similar to The Adventure of the Six Napoleons.
1. Author's Note

I meant to post this one sooner but finals attacked me! Arrgh! I never see another review packet it'll be too soon.  
  
Anyway, this continues the adventures of a band called the Irregulars, with a lead singer Lorelei Moriarty, lead guitar Kevin Lesrad (not Lestrade, see my other story to get the joke), guitarist James Mortimer, bass player Alexander Holmes, and one Solei Watson on drums. The band doesn't do much in this story, I'm trying to think up a good story line but my brain is shot.  
  
As always I love reviews, especially from my fellow writers. Tell me you loved it(please?), tell me you hated it(i won't get mad), just tell me what you thought. Any brillant suggestions for a new story are much appricated.  
  
Now that I've finished rambling, enjoy!  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	2. Vandals on Campus

Well, I'm at it again. Solei Watson and Alexander Holmes, members of the band The Irregulars, have a mystery to solve. I tried for some length here, and failed miserably. :) Ah, well, guess I'm just a short story kind of gal.  
  
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
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I, Solei Anne Watson, was bored. Not that restless sort of bored you get in the middle of algebra class or that annoyed boredom that comes three seconds after you realize you're paying for 150 channels and not a single one had anything good on it. No, I was bored in that lethargic sort of way when you're sitting on the couch at three in the afternoon on some warm summer Saturday, and you feel like you should be doing something but can't quite work up the energy to get up.  
  
The fact that it was a Wednesday morning wasn't helping any. I was ditching World History but I didn't care. I didn't feel like mustering the energy to gather my books. Beside, it was just history. Some old guy declares war on some other old guy and a whole bunch of people die. Then they sign a treaty at some place no one has ever heard of and nothing changes.   
  
The school paper lay on the floor. I rolled over on the bed to reach it, but it was just beyond my fingertips. I made one last attempt and snagged it. Leafing through it idly, I saw nothing that caught my interest, until the last page.  
  
Vandalism on Campus  
  
April 19th, in the evening hours, a campus art room was vandalized.   
The party or parties responsible overturned several canvases, and ripped apart   
the works of several student artists. Professor Saland had this to say, "This   
has been very upsetting to my students. They leave their works here to prevent  
accidental damage. I can't imagine why anyone would do this." Prof. Saland is   
offering a reward of L 500 to anyone with information on the culprit. Campus   
security is asking those with information to come to their main office in the   
Student Union.  
  
I had just finished reading when a sharp rap came at the door. I groaned to myself and dragged myself to the door. I didn't take that long about it, but when I opened the door, no one was there. Glancing up and down the hall, I saw a familiar back.  
  
"Hey Holmes!" I called. Alexander Holmes, bass player for The Irregulars, chemist, and all around smart guy turned and faced me with a look of annoyance on his handsome face.   
  
"I thought you might be in class." He said. I shrugged but didn't answer. "I've found an interesting case, I thought you might want to come along."  
  
Ever since I helped him solve the attempted murder of our best friend and lead singer, Lorelei Moriarty, Holmes and I had worked together on those puzzling little mysteries of campus life, like who stole the tv out of the common room in residence hall. "Sure," I said, "what happened this time? Lana lose her cat?" Holmes frowned, remembering that short-lived case.  
  
"No. Did you hear about the art room being robbed?"  
  
"I was just reading about it getting vandalized, I didn't know anything had been taken."  
  
"Well, nothing important but Professor Saland asked me to help investigate. I thought another pair of eyes might help." The thing about Holmes is he likes you to think he's indifferent to the world, and for the most part, he is. But him and I seemed to hit it off. Plus, investigating a crime, however petty, sure beat staring at the ceiling.   
  
"Couldn't hurt." I agreed, and grabbed my backpack.  
  
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I love reviews. These are mainly short chapters, so they should go up pretty quick. Questions, comments, ideas, criticism, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button. Flames shall be used to heat my room. (It gets bloody cold in here, and it's supposed to be spring!)  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	3. The Art Room

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
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We stood in the middle of the trashed art room, waiting for Professor Saland. Holmes was carefully examining every piece that had been tossed about. Every painting in the room had been smashed or torn. The thing that struck me was the lack of damage to everything else. A few unfired clay sculptures, some pencil sketches, and some photographic collages were still in their appropriate places.  
  
Th door swung open and Professor Saland walked in. She was tall, dressed entirely in black, and wore glasses with thick black frames. She didn't even glance at me, but cleared her throat and said, "Mr. Holmes." I immediately disliked her.  
  
"Professor Saland. Thank you for meeting with us." Saland looked at him, trying to read his inner thoughts, but his face was a smooth mask.   
  
"Anything to help. Campus security insists that there is nothing more sinister here than a vandal."  
  
"And you believe different?"  
  
"Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to create a little havoc. There are easier and higher profile targets. We barely got a paragraph in the school paper." Saland looked disgusted for a moment and recovered herself.  
  
"Anything missing?"   
  
"I haven't finished an inventory yet. Everything seems to be here."  
  
"Do you lock the door every night?"   
  
Saland nodded. "Not that night though." She said suddenly. "One of my students was finishing her sculpture," She waved a hand vaguely at the row of clay figures. "But I trusted her to lock up."  
  
"What was the student's name? She may have seen something." Holmes added quickly before Prof. Saland could take offence.   
  
"Yolanda Rodriguez. I'm expecting her soon."   
  
"Could you send her to the Couch Room in the library? I'd like to speak with her."   
  
Prof. Saland nodded. She noticed one of the easels that had been knocked over. She sighed and went over to straighten it. "I hope you catch him. These works are very important to the artists, even if no one else cares." The veneer of a aloof artist disappeared and for a moment, Saland was simply a tired and harassed woman.  
  
Holmes nodded solemnly. "I will do my very best madam."   
  
Holmes insisted on inspecting the outside of the building after the interview. The art room in question was on the second floor. The first floor windows were alarmed but it seemed impossible to me that a vandal would enter through the second floor window when there was a perfectly good door right there.   
  
"What do you think?" Holmes called from under a bush. I guess he was looking for footprints.   
  
"I think it's artistic jealously. A person destroyed another's paintings. A vandal would have trashed everything in that room and a art student would have been able to convince that girl, Yolanda?, to let him or her in." I replied thoughtfully.  
  
"That's a very good theory, but it doesn't explain this." Holmes stood up and dusted himself off. He was holding a medium sized painting, probably a landscape. What kind of landscape exactly was hard to tell because the canvas had been slashed away from the backing. "Smooth cut, probably a penknife or something. So Watson how does this fit in with your theory?"  
  
I looked up and saw the window above us was cracked open, just enough for the canvas to slip through. "I'd wish you'd tell me when you find clues like that." Holmes just chuckled.   
  
"I also found that the other painting have no more damage than might be cause by being tossed to the floor. Our hypothetical someone was looking for this painting. I wonder why?" The last question Holmes muttered to himself. "Well, since we have some time, how about getting some lunch?"   
  
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.   
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	4. The Sculptor

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
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After lunch at the cafeteria, we hung out at in the Couch Room of the library. Some wise soul decided more people would use the campus library if there were comfortable places to study. There were a dozen large comfy sofas scattered around a large fireplace. It was a great place to finish the homework I had with me. Holmes was reading some really thick novel when a female voice interrupted us.  
  
"Are you Alex Holmes?" Holmes winced ever so slightly, he hated his first name.  
  
"Yes, I assume you're Yolanda Rodriguez." Holmes waved in my direction. "My friend, Solei Watson." I didn't wince but I gave him The Look when Yolanda wasn't looking. I didn't like my first name much either.  
  
"Prof. Saland said you wanted to see me about the trashed room." She sighed and ran a hand through her short dark hair. "I'm just glad none of my pieces broke, I'm applying for a graduate school scholarship." As she was talking she sat carefully on the edge of the couch. She seemed to me to be a fragile little woman, a good stiff wind might have lifted her off the ground.   
  
"Odd about that. None of the painting seemed to be damaged." Holmes said casually.  
  
"But there is one missing. Saland told me to tell you. It was a landscape by Andrea Fenton." Yolanda corrected him. "Weird thing about that is that Andrea moved to Paris for graduate school."  
  
"Why was that piece left behind?"  
  
"Saland liked it, said it was a prime example of Impressionist art. It was just a display piece."  
  
"Did anyone come in while you were working?"  
  
Yolanda didn't answer right away. She stared at the cold fireplace for a moment. "A few people came in and out but everyone was gone when I left. I checked."   
  
"You're sure?" Yolanda nodded firmly. "Thanks for your help, Yolanda."  
  
She shrugged. "Not sure I was much help, but you're welcome."  
  
I waited until she had gotten out of earshot to ask Holmes what he thought. "I think this is getting to be a strange case. She has no motive, so unless she's concealing the criminal, we are back where we started. No motive, no suspects, no means, and no opportunity." He fell silent for a minute. I returned to my work and when I looked up a few minute later he was gone.  
  
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.   
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	5. Means, Motive, Opportunity

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
ARRGH!! ::bangs head against wall:: first finals then summer job. i have been so busy it's not even funny. get up, go to work, come home, crash. repeat daily. i must be crazy to do two jobs during the summer. now that i'm done ranting, the story continues.  
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Holmes had a habit of disappearing and reappearing without warning. Sure enough, just as I finished by last note card, Holmes materialized without warning.  
  
"Well, I have the means at least." Holmes produced a strip of duct tape in a plastic. "It was on the doorjamb where the lock should have gone. One of the students to visit must have placed it there so he could come back later." He chuckled. "Ingenious in its simplicity."  
  
"We still don't have a motive or suspects." I pointed out.  
  
"True, but I don't think this will be the last event in our investigation." Holmes' words proved too true that weekend. A sorority was broken into during a frat party next door. Campus security called it a fraternity initiation and gave the frat boys a warning. The only thing taken was a painting, which was later found down the street, leaning against a streetlight, the backing torn away.   
  
The painting, a simple reproduction of the sorority building, didn't belong to anyone in particular, and was thrown away. Holmes insisted on seeing it, which meant searching the dumpsters around the building. I was glad to play lookout this time, though we didn't have to look for long   
  
"Catch!" A rather large canvas came sailing out of the dumpster, which I barely caught, followed by Holmes. The backing had been torn away just like the landscape we had found by the art building. Holmes examined the frame carefully. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with the canvas, aside from the damage which had been inflicted on it.   
  
"What are you looking for?" I asked after a moment.  
  
"This." He turned it over and indicated the signature scrawled across the lower right hand corner of the picture. "Andrea Fenton." He said, unnecessarily.   
  
"So someone is stealing her paintings. Why? She's in France, it couldn't be to spite her, she doesn't even know about this." I thought aloud.   
  
"Maybe we should ask her." Holmes said, as he pitched the painting back into the trash bin.   
  
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.   
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	6. E-terrogation

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
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Twenty minutes later I was typing a e-mail to Andrea's school e-mail in Paris. To my surprise, I got a instant message almost immediately. This is a transcript of our conversation.   
  
ArtsyChick56 (Andrea): i just read your message, can you chat for a minute?  
  
MissScarlet (Me): sure, how's france  
  
ArtsyChick56: alright. someone's stealing my paintings?  
  
MissScarlet: yeah, just the two so far. an abstract landscape and a painting of Linda Norton Hall  
  
ArtsyChick56: those piece were part of a project. i gave them away after i got the grade.  
  
MissScarlet: you can't think of any   
  
Holmes grabbed the keyboard at this point and one of us accidentally hit enter.  
  
ArtsyChick56: any?  
  
MissScarlet: how many other pieces were there?  
  
ArtsyChick56: five total. i guess that makes three left. lemme think a minute.  
  
There was a pause of about a minute in which I wrestled the keyboard back from Holmes. He let me have it but didn't look apologetic for taking it.  
  
ArtsyChick56: i gave one of them to my friend, Kevin, he really liked them. one i donated to an auction and the other is with my friend Amara  
  
MissScarlet: do you know where Kevin and Amara are now?  
  
ArtsyChick56: Kevin I know is studying music there. Amara was a poli sci major but i think she's gonna take over the family business. they own a pub near the Strand  
  
MissScarlet: what are the other paintings of?  
  
ArtsyChick56: buildings. cityscapes. each one has a subtle difference i couldn't tell what unless i saw them again.   
  
MissScarlet: how could we contact them?  
  
Andrea sent me the name and number of her friend's pub and Kevin's dorm room. I thanked her, printed a copy of the conversation, and signed off.   
  
"Who do you want to talk to first, Kevin Ramius or Amara Jhavari?" I asked Holmes.   
  
"Kevin. He's on campus already, it should be easy to talk to him."  
  
Kevin turned out to be rather elusive. His roommate, though, was happy to let us see the painting. Holmes examined the front and back carefully, while the roommate, Cody, and I talked. Actually, it was Cody who talked. They say that being chatty is a feminine trait. Yeah, well, they never met Cody.  
"Yeah, Kevin's a great guy. Little quiet though." Cody rambled. "I guess he's got his reasons though. Lots of family problems."  
  
"Wha.." I tried to ask.  
  
"Real smart too. He took last semester off, just came back a few weeks ago, took up right where he left off, never missed a beat. He might be ahead of me by now. Dunno why he likes that painting so much." Cody paused long enough to wave in the direction of the wall.  
  
"I…"  
  
"But hey, everyone has a right to be a little weird, though Kev's a little more than weird. Real quiet. Sure you don't want to wait for him?"  
  
"Well…"  
  
"I'd love to help you find those notes, but I bet he's got them. He doesn't spend much time here. Always out and about." Cody laughed uncertainly.  
  
"I thi…"   
  
This time it was Holmes who interrupted me. "I think we'll come back later. Now that I think about it, he told me he'd be in the library. We'll just try and find him there." With every word Holmes edged towards the door, and I followed.  
  
"I sure hope you find him." Cody followed us to the door. "Bye!" He yelled as we hurried down the hall.  
  
"I feel sorry for Kevin. He's either really patient or deaf." I complained on the way to Amara's pub, the Rising Sun. Holmes nodded but didn't answer. He was in think mode.   
  
I shivered, the London spring was rather chilly. Of course, the fact that there were five bullet sized holes punched in the side of the van didn't help. We had borrowed The Irregulars van from Lorelei Moriarty. I tried to think about the case but Holmes' driving was not helping, I kept expecting him to put another dent in the fender before we got to the Rising Sun.  
  
We got there incident-free and settled down at a table with the manager, Amara Zhvari. The painting in question hung over the bar. It did look nearly identical to the one hanging in Kevin's room. Amara was a quiet, yet outspoken woman of Indian descent. She inquired about common campus gossip before we came to the point.  
  
Holmes explained the case we had so far, and Amara listened with some evident skepticism.   
  
"I really think you're making too much of this. Just because two of Andrea's paintings were stolen, she has works all over campus."  
  
Holmes shrugged. "Nevertheless, I believe someone wants those paintings. If you have no objections. I would like to keep an eye on this place tonight."  
  
Amara gave him a long, appraising look. "You really think someone's going to break in to my pub just for a student's painting." Holmes nodded. "All right then. If you set on it. I live upstairs and I close up at midnight."  
  
"Then we will be at your back door around 11:30."  
  
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.   
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	7. Denouement

Well, I'm nearly done. I made the mistake of getting two jobs this summer so my chances to write have been erratic at best. I have a few works in progress and i hope to publish more adventures of the Irregulars soon.   
  
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.  
  
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Amara was less than happy with two strangers staking out her pub all night. I wasn't too pleased about staying up all night either. Amara looked a bit surprised when Holmes and I showed up at her back entrance, like we were just playing a prank on her or something. But she joined us when we took up a position behind the bar, with the painting in our line of sight.  
  
We waited about two hours before a scraping noise came from the door. From the shadows on the wall, someone was at the door, trying to force their way inside. There was a rather loud bang as the lock gave way. The unknown person slipped inside, and softy closed the door and waited to see if he/she had roused anyone. The three of us held still and silent, and the thief began to move.  
  
Holmes and I had discussed this before we arrived. I slipped around the far end of the bar. I could see the thief standing on top of the bar trying to remove the painting. Holmes and Amara had gone around the other end of the bar, Amara stayed in the shadows and Holmes moved silently behind our thief. I made my way to the light switch by the door while staying out of the thief's line of sight.  
  
Just as the painting came loose from the wall, I flicked on the lights. The sudden glare dazzled everyone's eyes, but Holmes was ready for it and took the opportunity to drag the black-clad thief off the bar and to the floor. The painting scattered across the floor under a table. The thief struggled for a bit, but once he figured out Holmes had him securely pinned, he relented.   
  
Amara's first move was for the phone, to call the police. As she replaced the receiver, Holmes hauled his captive to his feet. He was about 5'10" with bleached blond hair, and would have been rather handsome if not for the sulky look on his face.  
  
"Kevin Ramius, I presume?" Holmes asked. I looked up, startled. Amara had the same reaction.  
  
"Kevin! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" She cried.  
  
"You know him?" I said incredulously.  
  
"We went to high school together." Kevin answered. He looked like a two-year old being forced to eat broccoli. "Nothing personal, Amara. I just needed that painting."   
  
"Why didn't you just ask?" She asked, bewildered. Kevin looked puzzled, as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind.   
  
"Because then he would have had to explain why he wanted it." Holmes interrupted. He picked up the cityscape from where it had landed and examined the back. "When your roommate was so kind as to let examine your copy, I realized the common thread in the thefts. Every one of the canvas had its' back torn away in a well lit place. Your copy had been treated in a similar manner, but repaired. Therefore, you must be the one who was stealing the other copies. But why?" Holmes worked the back away from the frame.  
  
"You must have been looking for something. This." An object fell out from behind the canvas and slid across the bar with a metallic clatter.  
  
"Wow." Amara whispered, and I echoed the sentiment.   
  
"The Sydney Star Necklace. A string of fire opals stolen from Countess Hillstone's hotel room last year." Holmes declared. He picked up the necklace by its clasp. The opals sparkled and danced in the light of the pub, like flame on a wire.  
  
"I worked at the hotel where she stayed. The opals were lying right there on the table for the whole world to see. I just took them and left. I still can't believe you were never caught." Kevin said, suddenly determined to have his say. "I needed the money to get through college. But I had to go home, when my mom got sick. So, I hid it where no one would ever look for it. Andrea was my friend. I hid it in one of her paintings then got her to promise to give it to me. I wasn't till last week I realized I'd gotten the wrong painting."  
  
"Geez, Kevin. How could you? You should have told us you needed help." Amara shook her head. Kevin didn't answer but stared intently at the floor.  
  
The scream of sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of the police. The first patrolman on the scene was rather startled when he responded to a break-in and found four college students and a million-dollar necklace.   
  
By the time we left, the eastern sky had begun to brighten and the first news vans were arriving. As we walked back to the van, I stopped suddenly, remembering  
  
"What?" Holmes asked.  
  
"Anthropology. I have a huge test in," I checked my watch. "forty five minutes."  
  
"Cheer up. With the reward money you can convince the professor to give you an A." Holmes said seriously. I turned to look at him, stunned. But he was laughing at me and the look on my face.  
  
"Just for that," I said with mock-haughtiness, "you can buy me breakfast."  
  
"Deal."  
  
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.   
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


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